


Dona Patrum Nostrorum

by andromeda_reinvented



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromeda_reinvented/pseuds/andromeda_reinvented
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Rome, politics can be as deadly as open warfare, and some know this better than others. Some have paid a high price for safety, while others struggle to keep going day to day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The scent of smoke carried on the slight breeze. Further in the distance, the sounds of battle echoed faintly through the forest. Neither side wanted to fight here, the terrain favored no one. Dense trees obscured any advantage that the archers had, and the Romans had little space to form their terrifying blocks of infantry, methodical in their never ending destruction. The ground had been stained with the blood of both sides. Leaves stuck to each other, coated in the rainbow of the Romans, and the mutant bright red of the barbarians. The knowledge of the terrain had helped the barbarians in the beginning. There were ways around the trees, ways under and through the foliage, across the valleys and hills, that granted significant advantages and the losses of the Romans were heavy. They lost ground, giving up what the barbarians viewed as strategic points. The barbarians pressed forward again and again, their war leaders grinning with misplaced confidence.

The tribes gathered, viewing what they had won. There was drink and dancing, bonfires able to be seen for great distances, for the Romans had cleared the trees. Everyone was together in celebration, and around so many others, they let their guard down. The Romans had been defeated, sent back with their tails between their legs. It was time to mourn the dead and rejoice with the living.

It was a trap. In the false light of predawn, the Romans came with their precision and their armor and their overwhelming numbers. Reinforcements had arrived, but had been kept hidden. The Roman War Machine had been busy. Traps were sprung, paths that were once safe now harbored pitfalls and unstable footing. Trenches hid sharpened spikes, covered with netting and leaves. Earthworks herded the fleeing revelers into ambush after ambush. At the end of the day, not a single barbarian was left. The slaughter was total and complete. The tribes were devastated. All of their warriors were dead. Without any way of rallying, they were swiftly defeated by the legions. There were only two options, surrender or die. What had taken a generation to build was lost to the legions in a matter of months. Before the wet season had sunk in, the army was on its way back to Rome with the spoils of war.

All that was left in their wake were defeated forests that had once stood proud and tall. Mother Earth, who had supported her tribes as they took care of her, had been trampled under foot after foot and fed the blood of those she had created. There was nothing left, nothing but a generation of orphans and elders, those who were unable to go to war. While the Romans had left, the tribes seethed. Curses were laid and a deep hatred settled into the bones of those who had survived. Perhaps not this day, or the next, but one day, one day they would take their revenge on Rome and its armies. There would be a day when the tribes conquered those who had destroyed them. Only then would Mother Earth be satisfied, only then would she forgive her children and allow the souls of their warriors to return to the cycle of life.


	2. The Beginning Of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee Makara is Consul. Eridan Ampora has turned his legions against Rome.

The way the senators all quieted as he stood did not bode well. Either they were waiting for him to give them enough rope to hang him or someone had done her job and they were waiting to actually listen. Standing he inhaled deeply, forcing a smile as he began to speak.

  
“Gentlemen, we are not here to decide what is happening. I can tell you what is happening. War is happening. The Legion Votum has turned traitor.” He paused to lick his lips which had gone dry in the seconds it took to get those words out. Once said, however, he could not take them back now. Raising his hands, he pulled the attention in the room back to himself, the angry grumbles and outraged faces once again turning toward him. “They are marching on Rome because their general, Ampora, has decided that not having the place of affection of the Empress means we must burn.

  
“I retired from military service because I found the whole affair of war to my distaste. Yet I stand before you now, saying words I never thought I would say. Give me an army. Give me an army, and let me defend our home.”

  
He prayed to the gods that his words had not fallen on deaf ears. He did not lie. Rather than take the offered place as general of the Legion Furor, he had begged the Empress to let him retire. Even now, some years later, the thought of returning to the battlefield made his stomach turn, but if it was necessary to save his home, then he would do whatever it took.

  
The murmur of the senators was not hostile, but neither was it approving. It would have been too much to hope for, but he had anyway. The thought made his mouth twist in an ugly parody of a smile for a moment. Ampora had talked about hope once. Once, they used to be the best of friends. Now he was asking for a sanctioned assassination. Still, the neophyte had done her job well. They were willing to listen. He knew what Ampora would do. Previous to serving together, they had gone to the same academy in Athens. They had trained together, and after realizing how complementary their skills were, worked together for the complete destruction of all who stood in their way, both on and off the battlefield. Ampora had brought out both the best and worst in him.

  
“I will support Consul Makara. I will move in his favor.” The sound of someone else speaking brought him back to the room he was currently standing in, away from a battlefield a long time ago and many miles away. He had to wonder though. The speaker was not a usual supporter of his, and the nomination came much quicker than he expected. Either this was to set him up, or the neophyte deserved every ounce of praise he hand and more. If his service had taught him anything, it was that politics was just as deadly as a battlefield, yet the weapons were words instead of swords, and much harder to defend against. Even confined to her estate, The Spider had a long reach and he hardly had expected her current puppet to speak in his favor. Still, her games ran deep, and many thought her crazy, even as her venom killed them. If the potential end results were significant enough, she would just stand and watch as the two leaders went to war. Glancing back at her puppet, another bitter smile twisted his face. It made much more sense now.

  
“Senator Makara, I do not know if sending one consul to fight another is a good idea. It could lead to a divided Rome; gods forbid it come to civil war. There is still much discontent among the populous with the new institutions set in place by Her Divine Radiance. This is not something to be decided lightly or hastily. The Senate must make the decision best for all of Rome’s citizens.”

  
The new voice came from the back of the room, yet it was one that he recognized. Leaning against a pillar at the top of the amphitheater that housed the Senate meetings, was a priest. Or rather, he was dressed in a priest’s robes, from the temple of the Oracle of Apollo. If the man really was a simple priest as his robes suggested, he’d eat his own toga.

  
“Captor, you of all people should know what will happen if Ampora reaches Rome. You know him as well as I do. Yet, you speak for the gods now. What do they say about this?” The corruption in the temples had left the young oracle bitter and jaded. His talents had been discovered when he was young, and while life in service to the gods had seemed like a way to get out of the slums and the gutters, it was just a fancier version of the same thing. If you wanted things to go in your favor, you had to earn them, or pay for them. Money was rarely the currency used. The drugged mind honey they had fed him had caused his mind to split in two, both personalities struggling for dominance. Today he wore blue, the more stable of his duality.

  
“The gods have remained silent, my friend. There is no help, nor hindrance from them. Our choices are our own this day.” He said, the ritual words of the temple echoing empty through the hall. The oracle had long ago given up the belief in any higher power, despite the voices that spoke to him.

  
One by one, the other senators stood and voiced their thoughts. In some, he could hear the words of others. Those in favor of keeping the armies as they were lined their pockets with Ampora’s gold and spoils of war. Some bore the words of spiders, whispering about grander plans, thinking about how their actions affected the larger scope of the world. Other still managed to speak fresh opinions from their own minds. The one thing he was listening for, however, did not come. There was still no second for the motion on the floor. If he did not receive one, then this whole show had been for nothing.

  
As the last senator sat down, the Tribune leading the discussion rose to ask one final time for a second. Before he could speak, however, an aide ran in, flushed and out of breath. Gathering himself quickly, he rapped his staff on the floor of the marble hall, calling everyone to attention. “Pontifex Maxima, Feferi Peixes.”

  
The surprised murmurs were hidden under the sound of the senators standing and bowing to the woman standing at the top of the stairs. While it wasn’t unheard of to see the Empress at senate meetings, it was unusual. She hadn’t been Empress long, but her terms of succession had given her a state that had not been very stable. She had set to work immediately, prioritizing what needed doing, and attending meetings of bickering old men was not high on the list.

  
“Augusta, you grace us with your presence today. What brings you to our humble meeting?” the Tribune asked from the floor. Walking up to, then past him, the Empress smiled to everyone, pausing to talk to a few senators here and there, inquiring about family and health, offering a kind word to others. Ignoring the Tribune completely, she held out her hands to the Consul, pulling him into a warm hug.

  
“Gamzee! It’s been too long. You must come for dinner sometime soon. I’ve been so busy with making sure everything runs smoothly, I’ve completely forgotten about my friends. I need a break. Apparently I’m working so hard, I’m beginning to mix up my days. If my aide hadn’t told me this was happening now, I would have missed it for sure. I was expecting this vote to be tomorrow. I’m glad I’m here though. What have I missed?” Walking across the center of the floor, she pulled the Tribune’s chair over from the side of the stage to the center, next to the consul’s seat. Only after she sat did everyone else take their seats.

  
“It is a pleasure as always, Augusta. There has been a motion to return me to active duty. However, it needs a second or it will fail. Tribune Scurra was about to make the last call when you arrived.” Gamzee relaxed slightly in his chair. If push came to shove, then he could appeal to her for help. Forcing the Senate to approve of his appointment would not make any friends, but there were few things he wouldn’t sacrifice for his home. Unfortunately, one of those things was the fragile peace that Augusta Peixes had managed to nurture into existence. Tribune Scurra, who had stood awkwardly on the side without his chair, moved to the center of the floor to retake control of the fractured debate.

  
“Augusta, you are the last to speak. Then the final call will be made for a second. May we hear from you at this time?”

  
“Thank you, Tribune Scurra. Senators, this is not an easy decision to make. I understand that hearing one of your leaders has turned against what we stand for is hard. General Ampora grew up as a foster of my family. He has been a good friend to me over the years. But this is unacceptable. He threatens to wreak havoc through our farms, killing our citizens and betraying our trust because he is unable to behave like the adults in this room here today. He is a child throwing a tantrum, a very dangerous child. I will not let him use me or anyone else for his own gain any longer. Please, Senators, I plead with you to allow Consul Makara to return to duty. If there is anyone I would trust with this matter, it is him. I will second this motion.” As she returned to her seat, the sound of a feather falling could be heard. Everyone was silent for a moment, until Tribune Scurra spoke again.

  
“Then it appears we have a vote. Is there any further discussion on this matter?” The only response was silence. Even the usually temperamental oracle was silent. “Then the vote shall commence. White marbles in favor of the motion, black are for a negative vote.” Motioning to the tally box, the Tribune cast the first vote. One by one, the senators made their decisions, each hollow clunk of a marble making the knot of nervousness in the consul’s stomach tighter. Over all, he supposed it could have been worse. They had managed to make it all the way to the vote without any deaths yet. After everyone had voted, the marbles were counted twice, the two senators checking their numbers against each other.

  
The finally tally came to one hundred sixty seven in favor, one hundred seventy two against, and four abstentions. Gamzee Makara put his face in his hands. He had lost by five votes. Somewhere in the distance, the Spider he had trained was laughing at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who know your way around Rome that Was, you'll notice it's not matching up to any specific time. This is partly because I'm lazy, and partly because I want to use certain parts of the Republic and certain parts of the Empire and mush them all together. Also, there are alien trolls there too. Y'know, because I want them to be. So yeah. It's not going to be perfect, but it tells a better story this way.
> 
> Also, I apologize for my terrible Latin. It's been some years and I can't find my text book to do it correctly.


	3. Pleasant Surprises and Unpleasant Ones too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in a completely different part of town...

Lounging on a bed, the fighter girl let the mouse she had caught run over her fingers, a piece of chalk twirling in her other hand as she gazed at the wall. Wiggling her toes, she pushed off the wall with her feet, rolling over and off her bed to stand, facing the tastefully scribbled paint and chalk. Every day that she was able, she visited the gossips at the market, and would share her food with them while they told her all that they knew about the Roman nobles, senators, famous gladiators and anyone else the public had their eye on at the moment. Treasuring all this information, she would return to her cell and take the chalk, updating her wall with the latest news. Deciding there was nothing new to add at the moment, she set her chalk aside, dusting her hands off on her hips. Stretching, she made her way out to the practice yards. A batch of new recruits had come in this week, and sooner or later, the culling would start.

“Leo, get over here!” The ludus yelled across the yard. Jubatus was an old man and had, against his better judgment, fallen into a fatherly roll for the girl. She was a natural. He had just shown her how to do it better. He had pulled her off the streets after seeing her fend off a gang of boys twice her size just for some scraps of bread. The girl’s attention snapped to him immediately, the green of her eyes going right through him, the predator in her taking a moment to settle back into quiet readiness. Not that he would ever let it show, but it still unnerved him, her stare. Sighing, he jerked his head back toward his office, turning that way himself. If he was ever going to survive what was coming, he really needed to start sleeping better. Trotting over after him, she followed him up to his office, where, on his desk, sat a crudely wrapped package. “This came for you, Leonella.” 

Looking at it carefully, the fighter girl pulled a knife no longer than the palm of her hand was wide, poking the package carefully. The last time someone had sent her a gift, it had been a small wheel of cheese, one of her favorites. Whoever had sent it had coated it with poison. She had been sick for a week, but thankfully no more. She had missed her fights that week, however, and rumor had it that the patrons of a troupe of gladiators from across town had made quite a hefty sum of money because of it. Turning the package, the writing caught her eye and she frowned. In the area and out of it both, she went by Leo, or Leonella. When she was fighting, the helmet she wore covered her face completely. Some of it was for protection, but the full face mask did cut some of her peripheral vision. She compensated, and worked with the hazard, because it lent her anonymity. She much preferred to not have her identity known by the general public. No one lasted long as a known arena fighter. If the fights themselves didn’t get you culled, then the rabid fans in the streets would. 

Letters and presents she received were addressed to her persona, not to her person. This package, however, had been sent to _Nepeta Leijon_. She hadn’t seen that name in a long time. There were few who knew it, and fewer still that used it. Carefully, she sliced the twine holding the package closed, letting it fall away on its own rather than remove it herself, careful of many small and dangerous things hidden in pretty paper. When nothing jumped out at her, she let herself look at the contents. Sitting amidst the paper on Jubatus’ desk was a helmet. But to say that this was merely a helmet would to say that the empire was merely a small expanse of land. Its creation and care were clearly visible even to one who was unfamiliar with arms and armor. Fashioned in the style of Legion officers, the helm extended down the back curve of the head to cover the top of the neck as well, flaring out slightly for ease of movement. The back of the bronze helm dropped just low enough that the top of the back of her neck would be covered, yet she could still have free range of movement. Rather than having hinged flaps that covered the cheek and jaw line, though, this helm was one solid piece, the jaw guard flaring out slightly for the face mask. Lacquer in a shade of green that was eerily close to her blood color pulled out details in the crafting. With the face mask in place, she would nearly resemble a lion in truth. Fangs lined the bottom of the face plate, right where her mouth would be, pulled back in a snarl. The angle of the eyes was such that when she had everything in place, there would be no blocking of her line of sight. It truly was a marvel, and worth something close to an entire year’s salary. What made her stop and grin was the mane of hair attached. Bright blue horse hair ran along the spine of the helm, standing tall and proud. Running her fingers through it, she smiled to herself. It matched the rest of her armor, her favorite armor. While he would have made it himself, her moirail had been called way to the legions. Instead, he’d had the armor commissioned for her by the best armorer in the city. It had fit her like a dream, and had saved her life more than once. If this had come to her now, did that mean that the war was over and the legions were coming home?

Helm in her hands, she looked up, scowling, just before raised voices drifted in from the practice yards. Tucking her gift under her arm and sliding her lethal dagger into its sheath, she leaned over the railing of the balcony. Just inside the gate to the practice yards stood a group of trolls, standing clustered together. Some looked nervous, most looked scared. Nepeta’s eyes lit up with delight. Spinning back to Jubatus, she slid her new prize on, not surprised in the slightest that it fit perfectly, even taking into account her horns and hair. 

“You didn’t tell me that we were getting new culls today! Do we get to play with them?” For someone so small, she nearly vibrated through the floor with her sudden energy. Just watching her made the ludus ache with phantom pains. 

“No, Leonella. These are recruits. If there’s any in there that are trainable, find them for me. We need new blood. You, my darling, always draw crowds, but some of the others here aren’t pulling the crowds they used to. Find me something that will bring in the crowds, and keep them coming back for more.” He waved her off with a shooing motion, not wanting to keep her in place for longer than he had to. With a grin, Nepeta vaulted over the balcony, landing easily on the ground below. Jubatus sighed, his hands on the railing where hers just were. In the back of the cluster, something caught his eye. He must have missed them before. There were two barbarians in the back, one with hair as dark as the rest of them, but still he stood out by his odd pink skin. The other had hair almost the color of the sand on the arena floor, and what looked like something covering his eyes. They had been crouched down before, hidden from sight by those in front of them. Dark Hair knelt because not only had he been cuffed to the chain that snaked its way through all of them, but he had been weighed down with more as well. Whoever had captured this pair had also managed to fashion it so that when Sand Hair moved, it pulled on Dark Hair’s chains, causing him to cry out softly. Squinting, Jubatus studied the pair closer. There was something he was missing. From his vantage point, he could see them more clearly through the rest of the recruits being shoved forward. Rubbing his eyes to clear them, he frowned, looking again. Was… was Dark Hair… floating?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you playing the home game, jubatus means crested, or maned, like a lion. For OCs who need names because they end up sticking around for one reason or another, the plan is to have their names match the themes of the characters they're related to. 
> 
> Sorry this took so long to get out. Real Life did that thing where it demands attention for some time. Hopefully I can get the next part of this out soon!


End file.
